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* 1 © © The Manicure Lad y © © By WILLIAM F. KIRK. 4 i T WENT to some trotting races up I to the county fair last week,” said the Manicure Lady. “I had a awful good time, George. It didn’t seem like going to them running races where the betting ring is the whole thing, and where a lot of foxy book makers used to take away the money of a unrespecting public. The kind of racing I seen was the cleanest I have saw for a good many years.” “ r like runners,” said the Head Barber. "There is more action every way to a running race. And there is the chance to win a few dollars, kiddo.” 'Yes, and there is the chance to lose a few dollars, too,” said the Mani cure Lady. "I am awful glad that kind •of racing is stopped. I know that it made an honest bookmaker or tout go out and do some real work for a living, but think of the blessing that the stop ping of races was to thousands of fam ilies. Think of all xhts heads of fami lies that comes home now with their week’s pay and hands it over to buy shoes for the baby instead of losing it the way they used to. I tell you, George, you will never know how much misery was caused by racing the way it was ran the last few years it lasted in the city.” "There was a lot of money won, too,” argued th<e Head Barber. "I remember one time I had $2 on Sailor Boy, one of Father Bill Daly’s horses. I won two hundred dollars, and gave the wife half of it. The bettors didn’t always lose, kiddo.” "None of them ever won anything in the long run,” declared the Manicure Lady. "Gambling money ain’t no good, George. I know lots of men that makes bets wins money, because somebody has got to win the same as a lot has got to lose. But the money that you win gambling ain’t thought of respectful by you. You won it easy and easy it goes. When a man works hard all day chop ping wood for $2 he is liable to look at the $2 a long time before he buys a pint of wine with it. But when he wins $2 on a horse or in a game of dice, the first things he thinks of is wine and women, and goodness knows that much money won’t go far in a swell cafe except for a tip to the hat boy. No, George, gambling ain’t lawful, and it ain’t good no matter how you figure it!” "You sure have got a awful moral streak on this morning,” said the Head Barber. "I never thought you would get so sour on a little gambling. You won four dollars from me last week when I bet you on the Crackers, and I notice you took it without giving me no lecture on the evils of gambling.” "I wasn’t speaking about the pleasure of gambling and winning,” said the Manicure Lady. "I was thinking about the awful misery that is caused when folks losee their money. And I want to tell you, George, I was sorry to take that four dollars, because I was afraid your wife might need it. I made up my mind then that I would never gamble again, George, unless you want to bet four more on Mobile against Atlanta. I’ll take the Crackers, so as to give you a chance to get your money back." The Question of Winter and Spring By BEATRICE FAIRFAX. A i 'i t. h DEAR MISS FAIRFAX: In the office where I am em ployed I come in contact with quite a few men, and one of them, a widower, has asked me to mar ry him. I am a young girl eighteen years of age and have a very nice home, good parents, * end belong to a nice, respectable family. I know my parents would not like me to marry this man, as he is 45 years of age. I told him that, and he wants me to / elope with him. Now, I think if I did that the neighbors would have a very bad opinion of me, and then I know my mother and father would worry about me if I were to run away. When he came in the office one day he caught me talking to his son, who is 23 years of age, and he w’as furious and said I should marry him at once. He has plenty of money and can give me everything I like, hut I do not love him—but like him. I think, as he says, that after we are married I shall learn to love k him. Do you think I will? He is very good to me and says * he will always love me. He is nice looking and dresses nicely. He said I should tell my mother, S and if she says yes, why, then # we’ll have a church wedding, but I if not, that we will be married * anyhow', but not have a wedding. J Please, Mb's Fairfax, what should I I do? SUE. S O he is very good to you and says that he will always love you— little Sue—of the wistful heart? Well, what do you suppose he would be and w hat would you expect him to say—when he is trying to get you to marry httn, pray tell? He certainly isn’t going to be bad to you and tell you that he is only going to love you while the honey moon lasts, is he? At That Picnic. Not if he’s really trying to get you for a wife. Deceitful—do I mean that he is that ? Not the least little bit in the wor 1 ? do I mean that—but whisper—the * MOTHER SO POORLY Dould Hardly Care for Children. Finds Health in Lydia E. Pinkham’i Vegetable Compound. ) <• I U Bovina Cent.r, N. T.—Tor «tx fears I have not had as good health as I have now. 1 was very young when my first baby was bom and my health w r as very bad aft er that. I was not regular and I had pains in my back and was so poorly that I could hardly take care of my two chil dren. I doctored w’ith several doc tors, but got no better. They told me there w’as no jelp without an operation. I have teed Lydia E. Ptnkham’B Vegetable Pompound and It has helped me won derfully. I do most of my own work low and take care of my children. 1 fecommend your remedies to all suf fering women."—MRS. WILLARD A. BRA HAM, care of ELS WORTH TUTTLE, Bovina Center, N. Y. Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Corn- found, made from native roots and ierbs, contains no narcotics or harm ful drugs, and to-day holds the record if being the most successful remedy d'e know for woman's ills. If you teed such a medicine why don’t you fry it? If you have the slightest doubt hat Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound will help you, write to iydla E. Plnkham Medicine Co. (con- Identlal) Lynn, Mass., for advice, fo ur letter will be opened, read and Jnswered by a woman, and held In Itfjut confluence. other day at the picnic do you re member how r very, very hungry you were, and how you wished that the chocolate cake had five layers instead of three—w’hen you saw’ old Aunt Su san take it out of the basket? The chicken looked so good, too— didn’t it?—all nice and brown and flaky, and, dear me, who made those delicious little cakes, all sugar and spice—that was before luncheon. After luncheon you were thirsty— awful thirsty, and you wouldn’t have traded a good cold glass of lemonade for all the chocolate cakes in the w’orld and ten dozen frosted cookies, would you? / You weren’t deceitful about it at all, were you—you were just hungry— before luncheon. That’s the way with a nice, amiable looking man—some times. Before marriage he's hungry—and he talks like a hungry man; perhaps after the honeymoon he may not quite agree with his own opinion of you— just now. Did you never stop to think of that? You’re 18 and he’s 45—a bad bal ance In the bank of years. I’m afraid. It would be all right if you loved the man, but you say you do not. And then that little affair of the son—it looks as if the gentleman was a bit disposed to be jealous—if he’s so furious to see you' talking to his own son before you marry him what would he be to see you talking to anybody’s son on earth after you are married? What sort of a girl are you, any how? The time has gone by when girls marry just to be married—it doesn’t pay any more—it never did pay, for that matter. Only women are just beginning to find that out. You are not in love with this man —the only thing you can find to say in his favor is that he has plenty of money and can give you everything you want—can he? Will he? Is everything you want to be bought at a shop, like a pound of steak and paid for—like a doctors’ visit ? I don’t believe it—I can’t be lieve it . Ought to Count. Why. the very day after you mar ried this man you might meet the one you could really love—what then 7 S en9e —prudence—principle, oh, yes, these things all ought to count—In such a case—but are you sure they would count—In your own particular one? Cleverer women than you have thrown their lives away in Just such a bargain as this. Don’t you do it, little Sun—dont’ you think of doing Money and position and fine clothes seem to count a whole lot more than they do—old Mother Nature doesn’t listen to them one minute. Wait till you fall in love. Sue, and they marry—and be happy—if it’s only .for a month or so—be happy for once _ and laugh at the grim old world. You’ve found the secret of it all In that one month—after all. Boost. An Atlanta lawyer 1* held respon sible for this: ’’Boost, and the world boosts with you, Knock and you’re on the shelf, For the world gets sick of the one who’ll kick. And wishes he’d kick himself, “Boost when the sun is shining, Boost when it starts to rain; If you happen to fall, don’t lie there and bawl, But get up and boost again. “Boost for your own advancement, Boost for the things sublime, For the chap that’s found on the top most round Is the booster every time." • In Baltimore. Justice Mandansehl’s commitment of Jim Roye, colored, to the house of cor rection may be lacking in legal essen tials, but his spelling Is not open to criticism'by those who admire pictur- esquenesB and origlnalty. When he com- mtted Roye on the charge of “Passing bad money Vargrence and habiteral des- tervence of the peace and not lnsaen,” he may have ofTended against the prin ciples of law. but he performed a liter ary feat that would have created envy in the mind of Dogberry. Won’t Stop. Prattle (to his wife)—You don’t seem to have the courage of your convictions. Mrs. Prattle—I should like to know how you come to that conclusion? Prattle—Yau say it’s no use talking, aikl then you talk for hours. A NEWPORT STYLE Fully"Described by Olivette WJ Jl m YY m>Y The Newport craze In bathing suits Is for the silt skirt garment, and If you see some excuse for the split skirt of the hobble type, where the cut comes at the ankle In order to enable the wearer to walk, perhaps you can also figure out a cut In a knee-length skirt that the wearer mayswlm. Here we picture the prettiest example of the new fashion freak we have seen. Black mohair forms the bloomers that are banded In at the knee andfastened at the side with round white buttons. The same materi al is used for the one-piece top garment, which Is caught around the waist In a fashion borrowed from the bathrobe. For this belt and bow and for the trimming of the suit hercules braid two inches wide Is used, and to outline neck, sleeves and skirt cut high at the sides a half-inch braid Is used. Bands of this narrow braid hold the two apron-llke parts of the skirt together and strap the sleeves, which are cut in a bishop’s mitre line to match the skirt. The home dress maker may copy this suit for about two dollars. For late bathing days. THE TUNNEL GREATEST STORY OF ITS KIND SINCE JULES VERNE (From th« of Bernhard Rf-Hermann—- Herman rrratwn Copyrighted. 1918. by Fii^htr Vorlag. Berlin. fcnglwh trajialatlon And compilation by • • • • The Caged Bird By LOUISE HEILOERS. • • • • S HE had never thought to own any thing so beautiful. For so long had her cage hung empty on the wall that she had given up all hope of ever finding a tenant for it; and then, suddenly, one morn ing, this beautiful bird had dashed into her life, with plumage of scar let and orange and green, and with sapphires for eyes The sunlight upon its feathers dazzled her. When it poured out its heart in song it was all the sunlight dancing upon the earth. Never before had she been so happy. Color in Her Cheeks. A little color crept into her pale cheeks; she took pains over her hair, she sewed lace frills or. to the collar and cuffs of her plain blue gown. The young man over the way who had at first taken little interest in her began to ti^nk about her as quite good looking. It was. by the way, shortly after the advent of the young man over the way that the empty cage in the house opposite had found its brilliant ten ant. But so simple was the little owner that she never connected the rainbow bird with the way the voung man from over the way looked at her, or the way in which he held her hand, nor yet the way in which (presently, not just at first, of course) he kissed her. Love that has been properly in troduced takes at least a fortnight to become thorougnly acquainted. She not only dimly noted that it was whenever they were together, she and the young man over the way that the bird seemed to sing the loud est. the notes thrilling from its throat as the golden tire tlpwei'a fall from the sky through rockets. And whenever the bird sang, she forgot the four white-washed walls (on which hung cheap-colored prints from Illustrated papers and a few faded portraits of the landlady’s relations) which framed her life, and was transported /'traightway Into a tropical forest, full of magic sights and sounds, where of nights a big white moon floated over feathery tree tops, and where by days gorgeous butterflies rested on flowers white as snow and scented as are orange groves. She forgot the lonely lot of the unloved that had been hers for so long. She remembered only her lover's kises upon her lips. This foolish love of ours. Hnw it spring-cleans this old gray world, making it a garden of evergreens where Adam and his mate may for ever meet. The young man over the way had lived there for about six months when he suddenly made up his mind to move. Girls Plentiful. Girls are plentiful, and he had no mind to tie himself legally to one; besides, he had never cared much for brown hair. And there was a dash ing-looking blonde in the boarding house where a friend of ins lived. He might as weH go there for a time. Hj was tired of living in diggings any way. besides Laura was beginning to be a bit of a nuisance. Dash it, one might almost think that she ex pected him co marry htu - . * •' • ^ It was just after he moved that the scarlet and orange and green bird with sapp.nre eyes flew away. She hau no Knowledge that she hari left the cage door open the night be fore. But when she crept, wan faced, to the wicker liars the next morning th** cage was empty; the bird had flown away, (Copy nth ted. 1918, by Intoraationsl News Sertlo*.) TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT. There was not a sound now but the faint ticking of the valves on their oxygen generators in the helmets. Al lan groaned as he picked his way over the field of the dead staring up at him in the lantern light with hor ribly distorted faces. These were the vanguard Of that awful army of de spair that had staggered through the smoking ruin with Rives. Rives was not among them, hut suddenly out of the dense smoke a man appeared and dropped at Allan’s feet. He wore only a tattered pair ot trousers. Allan quickly flashed the light in his face. It wag not Rives. With Lefevre’s help they carried him still breathing feeb/y, back to the train. Two doctors took him in hand, and in a few minutes they had brought him to a consciousness of his sur roundings. Under the further stimu lus of a drink of brandy he was able to talk a little. His first statement, in broken English, which showed that he was a French Canadian, was that the Virgin had saved him. Lefevre began questioning him. gently but swiftly, in his own tongue. He said that he had been uncon scious at least once before. He had been revived by a current of fresh air blowing across his face. He had tried to get out of*the tunnel and found that the smoke was too thick. He was trying to work his way back to the fresh air when they had found him. He did not understand that In the smoke he had turned completely around again. Allan muttered an eager exclama tion. "That means that the ventilating plant Is making headway against the smoke,” he cried. “There's a chance for some of the others! Ask him if he heard anything of any others.” "Yes,” replied the rescued, eagerly; "I heard somebody laughing severa. times.” "What! Laughing?” exclaimed Le fevre. “Yes,” was the solemn reply. "Poor chap!” murmured Allan, when this was translated. "It’s a wonder he didn’t hear more than that.” Push on in Smoke. But Lefevre was not wholly inclined to accept this explanation. He ques tioned Renard—that is the man’s name—in detail and finally told Allan that he was convinced that the Ca nadian had heard human voices. "Then let us go in, in God’s name!'’ cried Allan. "Volunteers from the doctors!” There was a unanimous response. Allan chose the first two and with Le fevre set out into the smoke again. It was a terrible march, picking their way along the corpse-strewn track over blocked timbers and fragments of rock. Someone was falling con stantly, for the smoke was like a heavy yellow wall against the glasses of the helmets. Once, after a stum ble, Allan felt a terrific pain shoot from his right ankle up his leg. but paid no heed. Suddenly they were stopped dead in their tracks. From somewhere ahead of them out of the thick yel low-black vapor came peal upon peal of shrill, unearthly laughter. For a spare no man breathed and one of the doctors swiftly crossed himself. As suddenly as it began It ended, and to the four It seemed for a few mo ments that no human lips could have made the ghaptlv sounds that echoed and rattled up and down the smoke- filled galleries Then Allan began pushing swiftly on and others stumbled after him as If afraid to be left alone. In another minute or two they came upon a small substation, and the terrible laughter nealed forth again. Allan put his shoulder to the door and pushed it In and entered, Lefevre and. the doctors at his heels. A ventilating tube entered the sta tion, and around the opening four men were writhing and .squirming and occasionally from one of the smitten came a shriek of the horrible laughter that had startled them In the gallery. The whistling sound that curne to the ears of the rescuers told them that the ventilating plant wan working with increased power and tills had kept the four alive. In the station, so close that they bumped into It in their eontortlbns, was a'i oxygen generator, unused! A1 lfour were foreign laborers. When they saw the smoke helmets of the rescue party, they screamed with terror and crouched in a far comer of the room. One of the doctors managed to make some sense out of the gib berish, and gathered that they be lieved themselves in hell * and had taken the rescuers for demons. When Allan and the others approached they sprang at them in the madness /of terror and fought until they were overpowered and bound. Allan guv? an order and they were hurried back to the train as swiftly as possible. One was dead before that goal was reached and none of the other three ever recovered his reason. Allan Collapses. As he staggered Into the car with the last of the four, Allan collapsed In the aisle. He had been thirty-six hours' without sleep and under a strain such as no man had ever borne before. The doctors quickly revived him, but when He insisted ihat he must push on again, in spite bf their protests, 'one gray' haired physician persuaded him to take a “stimulant and rest for a few min utes.” Inside of a minute he had passed into a deep sleep that lasted several hours. Lefevre and two of the doctors made two sorties in the meantime and got past the station where the crazy men had been found, but they were driven back by smoke. When Allan woke he was under the impression that he had * hot been asleep, and no one disilKisioned him. He immediately donned his smoke he! met, and with the indefatigable Le fevre and a fresh doctor another at tempt was made. The smoke still ' tnbV6d 'flo'tVn on them like a living foe, groping Its way along the walls, creeping through cross-galleries filling the stations, silent, opaque, and resistless. But the ventilator had been sucking it out and forcing in millions of cubic yards of fresh pure air, and it seemed to grow thinner, little by little, as they advanced. It was slow arid terrible work. I They climed over and through Afclbcktd trains, ripped up ties and WHAT HAS GONE BEFORE ) The story opens with Rives, who is In charge of the technical work- ( Ings of the great tunnel from America to Germany, on one of the tunnel j trains, with Baermann, an engineer, In charge of Main Station No. 4. They ' are traveling at the rate of 118 miles an hour. Rives Is In love with 5 Maude Allan, wife of Mackendrick Allan, whose mind first conceived the great tunnel, scheme. After going about 250 miles under the Atlantic Ocean Rives gets out of the train. Suddenly the tunnel seems to burst. There is a frightful explosion. Men are flung to death and Rives is badly wounded. He staggers through the blinding smoke, realizing that about 3.000 men have probably perished. He arid other survivors get to Station No. 4. Rives finds Baermann holding at bay a wild mob of frantic men who want to climb on a work train, ftoinebody shoots Baermann. and the train slides out. The scene is then changed to the roof of the Hotel Atlantic. The greatest financiers of the country are gathered there at a summons from C. H. Lloyd, “The Money King." John Rives addresses them, and Introduces Al lan. Mrs. Allan and Maude Lloyd, daughter of the financier, are also pres ent. Allan tells the company of his project for a tunnel 3.100 miles long. The financiers agree to back him. Allan and Rives want him to take charge of the actual work. Rives accepts. Rives goes to the Park Club to meet Wit- terstelner. a financier. At Columbus Circle news of the great project is being Hashed on a screen. Thousands are watching it. Mrs, Allan becomes a lonely and neglected woman and Is much thrown in the company of Rives. Sydney Wolf, the money power of two continents, plots against Allan and Rives. Mrs. Allan has her suspicions aroused as to the friendsship between her husband and Ethel Lloyd. Rives and Mrs. Allan let the wine of love get to their heads and. before they know it, they confess their love for each other. Tun nel City’s Inhabitants leaVn something has gone wrong In the lower workings of the great bore An explosion and fire have occurred in the tunnel, and when the workers hear of It definitely they become a raging mob. surging about the entrance of the bore. Mrs. Allan is warned not to leave her home while the excitement Is at Its height. But she and her child go forth. They meet a mob of women, frenzied by the disaster, who stone them to death. Rives was missing In the tunnel and Allan, his wife, child, dearest friend and 5,000 other lives gone, gave in despair. But he resolves to conquer, not he subdued, by the groat project. Gathering a relief train together he hurries into the tunnel. Near the end he conies to a pile of dead bodies. Now Go On With the Story. broken timbers. And the dead were everywhere. They were some two miles past the little sub-station when Allan stopped suddenly and held up his hand. “Listen!” he exclaimed in a lot* voice. "I think I heard a call.” The others stopped as they were bidden. For more than a minute "' nod intently, but there was bo sound but the faint whirr of some distant ventilator and the drip-drip of water. “I’m sure T heard it,” Insisted the chief as Lefevre shook h1s head. "I’ll give a yell now and everybody listen." He hallooed up to the tunnel and his voice died away in the distance. Then faint, but clear, as a voice sounds from far away over the water at night, came an answering hall. Found. "Fv God. there’s someone up the gallery!” exclaimed Lefevre and plunged on. The three dashed ahead, slipping and stumbling, and occasion ally stopping to shout again. Nearly always they heard the answering shout and nearer each time. It was close at hand, but they seemed unable to get closer, and finally It began to die away. “We’ve gone past him!” cried Allan, suddenly. "But we couldn’t,” protested his aide. a “We must have,” Allan In^sted. *T know—he was In one of the cross galleries! ” They scrambled back through the darkness and began searching the cross galleries. At the second one back they were greeted with a per fect storm of fresh air Into this they turned, and halfway up they came upon a strange spectacle. A ventilator opened in the little gallery, and against the wall was a generator stl'l pouring out oxygen. By the side of it sat a bald-headed old man. A few locks 0 f white hair still streamed from his bare, white scalp. His face was yellowed and seamed Into the dim lantern light. He seemed terribly emaciated and with ered, but he looked up with a smile that showed remarkably young and sound, white teeth. Lying with his head in his lap was the bpdy of a gigantic negro, his blue lips drawn back in a sardonic grin. "I knew you’d come, old man.” wheezed the withered one, reaching up a hand as If for help to rise. "I know you’d come.” And then Allan knew him. "Rives—Rives!” he gasped, between a shout and sob. The next Instant his arms were around the pitiful bundle and he had lifted It to its freet. The negro's head slid off and struck a fiat stone with a hollow thump. Rives, or what had been Rives, clung to Allan’s coat with one hand, and with the other he pointed down, while Allan held him close in a strong grip. "I'm all right, Mac, old man,” he said, feeblv, and smiled again. "But that nigger—that nigger took a lot out of me. and—he died after all. Too bad!" his staff strove night and day, and at last they began to. make headway; but still there was no sign from the laborers. At last the final spark of the fire had been quenched, the smoke disappeared and the fragments of the shattered driller were removed. Then the heart of the explosion was exposed. The theory that a pocket of highly explosive gas had been dis charged by a blast was proved cor rect. They found a chamber some hun dred and fifty feet in depth, about a thousand feet wide and more than half a mile long. It was perfectly dry. and Its sides, ceilings and floor were composed of a new mineral called "submarium,” of which they had found traces In the boring. It was light and crumbly, not unlike chalk, and had been discovered to be rich In radium. In Its length the chamber followed roughly the line of the tunel and meant a saving of a half-mile of boring; but the work was at a stand still. More than that, the disaffection spread to other tunnel cities, and at the end of the first month after the explosion the tunnel work was com pletely paralyzed. The Conference. Then Allan seriously bestirred him self. He 9ent for the leaders of the unions and held a conference with them In the famous room at the ad ministration building. "What do you men want?” he de manded. Nobody seemed able to answer him to the point. "We never had a strike before,” he went on, half angrily. ^"What’s the matter now? You know', and most of your men have sense enough to know, that we didn’t try to kill their mates. They know' that they are getting do'uble and triple the pay of ordinary labor, because they run this very risK —and this is the first time the frisk has become a reality. The first time —and the work is nearly half fin ished!” No one said anything for a moment, and at last an American delegate leaned forward In his chair. “1*11 tell you what it is, Mac,” he said slowly * They’re scared.” "Scared!” echoed the chief, con temptuously. ‘There Is not one chance In a million that anything like this can happen again. It was the one thing that w'e could not guard against, and we never pretended that we could. We can tell when we ar» approaching known gases and other known dangers. You men know that we trapped a bigger gas pocket than Joy of a Bachelor Son By FRANCES L. GARSIDE. T HEY were flustered and flurried, and looked. In spite of their wrinkled faces and gray hairs, like so many little girls who had es caped from their nurses, and had met to make confessions of their griefs. So great was the resemblance to lit tle girls, It seemed incongruous when one lifted a grandchild to her lap and another adjusted her glasses and got out her knitting. "This,” said the one with the grand child, "was brought to me last week. My daughter sent four children to me while she went on a trip. She said they would keep me from getting lone some.” . "I never have a moment's quiet,” said the weak voice of another old woman. "I have four married daugh ters and they are always sending their children to me, sometimes six at a time, to keep me from getting lone some.” "It would be nice,” she added pa thetically, "to have a chance to get lonesome sometimes.” There was a silence. All the little old women were thinking of the Susies, Billies, Johnnies and Lizzies that were always being unloaded on dear grandmother, giving her no chance to rest. A timid woman who felt that unless they were careful they would show dis loyalty to their daughters, tried to change the subject by asking the oth ers if they liked her dress. It was a soft, delicate gray. "I wanted one that color,” sputtered another little woman who rocked vio lently to express her Indignation, "but my daughter made me get black. She said It would make over better for her when I was gone.” "I live with a bachelor son," from the little old woman In gray, "and he lets me do as I like.” Old women do not cry. They have learned the futility of tears But they sighed, and several who lived with daughters paused in their knitting to wipe the moisture from their glasses. “When I take up a broom,” resumed the woman who lives with a bachelor son, "no one says ‘Don’t do that; you are too old for such work!’ No one screams to me to let the maid do it when I want to beat up a cake, and when I want to stay at home my son never tells me I will become an old fogy unless I go out more, and when I want to go out no one tells me it Is too hot or cold for one of my age, or that one of my years should never go alone. "I never hear anything about my age from my bachelor son. He lets me do as I please. My daughters complain because I work, and they say I am too old to keep house and should live with one of them, but he doesn’t think I am too old. He Just keeps still, and lets me wait on him, and that Is w'hat 1 enjoy.” The little old women looked wistfully at the little woman In gray. None of them had )>achelor sons to fuss over, and knew none of the feeling of a sec ond honeymoon that comes to a little old woman in fluttering around and ministering to a son who never suggests nor rebukes nor interferes as long as he Is made comfortable. Thpy sighed. It must be nice to have an easy-going son stand between a mother and her overly-solicitous daugh ters. They sighed again. And the sigh grew In Intensity and volume till It swept the little old women like so many withered autumn leaves before a gust of wind, fluttering and skurrylng right out of the room. And It was well. For, a moment later, the voices of many daughters arose on the air: "I wonder where mother la so long. She Is too old to stay away like this.” —FRANCES L. GARSIDE. The Strike. Rive* lay between life and death in the hospital, and for the first time In years Allan himself was in .Wreot charge at Tunnel City. The work of rescue was over, the bodies of the dead had been recovered. The last train had come out of the tun nel, but the far galleries were still choked with debris; but In all the great maelstrom of Industry scarcely a wheel stirred. Allan and his staff of engineers wrought like maniacs and strove by example and heroic endurance to stem the tide that was setting In against them. It w’as vain. The armies of toilers stood idle and numb and looked on. They and their wives stood in long rows on the terraced descent, sullen and still. The great . lighting plants, the pumps and ven- | tllator system were all operated by engineers, who dropped by the side of their work and slept In broken naps. Hordes of curiosity seekers from New York and Philadelphia added to I the confusion and the difficulty of ‘ the problem. Allan doubled the rail road fare, but even this did not head them off. For four weeks Allan and this before we came up to Main Sta- * __ tlon 3, but no one even got n whiff of I f\T r HIArPY* gas. Now what are the chances it UI a V WUI there being two such pockets of un- | known gas in Hie path of the boring?” The leaders looked at each othe’* and at the floor and shrugged their shoulders. "Well?” snapped Allan, impatiently The American took up the reply again. "O’ course, we know what you say is right, boss,” he said, "but It’s dif ferent with a lot o’ the men. You I know It’s just the idea of being caught down there under the ocean with no way out—that’s what gets ’em.” and vital fare* follow Iom of flesh a» emaciation. Thaaa coma from impov erished blood. Dr. Pierce’s Golden Medical Discovery To Be Continued To-morrow. enlivens a torpid liver—enriches tha blood -stops the waate of strength and tissua and builds up healthy fleah—to the proper body- weight. As an appe« tizing, restorative tonic, it sets to work all the proceesea of digestion and nutrition, rouses every organ Into natural action, and brings back health and strength. Cab anything else be "Jut an load” to taket EAT MEAT SPARINGLY DURING SUMMER. Meat heats the blood—eat very little of it during hot weather. That doesn’t mean that you have to sac rifice nourishing food because It is heating. You will find Faust Spaghetti more nourishing than meat, and it Is also j a light, cooling food. By analysis J you will find that a 10c package of Faust Spaghetti contains as much nutrition as 4 lbs. of beef. It is a rich, glutinous food made from Durum Wheat, the cereal extremely high in protein. Faust Spaghetti can be served in many different ways—write foe free recipe book. Sold in 5c and 10c pack ages. MAULL BROS. St.. Louis, Mo. A. G. Dunwody Bogt’s Pharmacy SOLD BY E. H. Cone Inman Park Pharmacy Brown A Allen Palmer’s Drug Store Lamar & Rankl n, Distributor# Chamberlin-Jo hnson-DuBose And Other *‘Llve" Deale rs In Toilet Articles. INSIST ON ODOR-Q-NO—^THERE’S NOTHING "JUST A3 GOOD. 1 *